Page 127 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8

Bile rose in his throat.

He wouldn’t, couldn’t, think of that. He would not examine how the idea of another’s hands on her flesh made him want to rage, made him want to break things.

She was not his, after all.

But the baby inside her…

A memory gripped him by the heart in a tight fist.

How he’d softly stroked Amelia’s forehead, tucked the blanket around her small body, kissed her good-night, and closed the door behind him. Turned the key to keep her safe.

Only he hadn’t kept her safe.

Death had taken her in his absence.

And now he had a choice to made.

Would she and his child be better off without him?

Had he learnt nothing? That doing things just because he wanted to had consequences. He’d left his sister all alone in a house of depravity to sneak out into the night and paint, and she’d died.

And his selfishness had come at a cost once again. He’d wanted a night, a moment six months ago, with a woman who’d heated his blood. And now she was pregnant, and alone.Hisbaby growing inside her.

Maybe.

He had to know for sure. And if she was carrying his child, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.He couldn’t.He’d protect them. The way he hadn’t protected Amelia.

‘Esther?’ he croaked.

‘Have you been listening?’

He ignored her.

‘The auction,’ he said, and images flooded his mind again, and made his body tighten in ways he swore it never would again.

But he’d keep his promise.

Only once.

This wasn’t about her or him.

It was about the baby inside her.

‘Eachus House, six months ago,’ he growled, and charged out of his studio. ‘I want the address of the winning bid.Now.’

If he was the father of her baby…

He’d stop at nothing to make sure they were safe.

Pride filled Aurora.

She fingered the green leaves of the cabbage, still wet from the morning downpour. It was so big, so ready. She’d grown nothing before. She’d never been allowed to push her hands into the dirt and dig a hole. Never been allowed to let a little seed flourish into life because she willed it so, and prepared the earth so it could flourish.

But here was the fruit of her labour. Several of them.

‘Shall I cut them back, Miss Aurora?’ the gardener asked.

She turned to him, looked at the wild bush of holly intertwined with vines of thorns and clusters of black and red fruit behind him.